


Revan: Rise of the Mandalorian Empire

by Redcoat_Officer



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: Knights of the Old Republic (Comic), Star Wars Legends: Knights of the Old Republic (Video Games)
Genre: Gen, Military, Neo-Crusaders, Old Republic Era, Origin Story, Revanchists, Sith Empire, before canon, the mandalorian wars
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-27
Updated: 2019-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:35:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21577660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Redcoat_Officer/pseuds/Redcoat_Officer
Summary: Four thousand years before the ascension of Emperor Palpatine, the Republic stands on the brink of collapse. The Mandalorians, a spectre from the Exar Kun war, have returned in force at the head of the most efficient military machine the Galaxy has ever seen. The Jedi council, fearing the potential corruption of its members, refuses to act. Within the bowels of the temple, a secret conspiracy is enacted and a hundred knights break ranks, declaring themselves the Revanchists. Their cause will bring them to the edge of the galaxy, and to the greatest tragedy the galaxy has ever seen.An attempt to tell the story of Revan's rise and fall, from the start of the Mandalorian wars to the 'death' of Darth Revan at the hands of his apprentice.
Kudos: 6





	1. Mandalore

_Roughly 4000 years before the Battle of Yavin, 10 years before the outbreak of the Mandalorian Wars._

The world sat at the edge of charted space, far beyond the reach of the Republic and barely acknowledged by anybody. This segment of the galaxy was home to scattered and diverse civilisations who had neither the will or the strength to play at galactic politics: heretic tribes fleeing prosecution, outlaws and criminals or the products of optimistic colonisation programs centuries past. The planet’s surface was pockmarked by asteroid impacts but bore a weak atmosphere, enough to allow the occasional weed to poke through the grey soil. This was the only life seen on this world, it may have been the only life the world had ever seen until this moment.

Atop the rim of a crater some three kilometres in diameter Canderous of clan Ordo sat, watching the stars. His armour enclosed him like a shell, the colour of blood and bone, more real to him than his own pale flesh. To Canderous, his iron skin, his beskar’gam, was an expression of who he was, unique, as all Mandalorian armour was unique. For Canderous, there were no distinctions between the maintenance of his armour and the maintenance of his body. Slung across his back was his most prized possession, a colossal rotator cannon taken in battle from a Cathar privateer who had sought to kill Canderous to win favour from his people. With it, he could pierce durasteel with a concentrated blast, or force whole platoons to find cover with a hail of bolts. Though the weapon had once bore the stamp of Balmorra Arms half a decade of scavenged repair work and field maintenance made the weapon as much a part of Canderous as his armour, his crushing fist to match his iron skin. 

Looming at his back was a hulking warbeast, its head jittering from side to side as if searching for prey. The Basilisk war droid was far older than Canderous, it had been salvaged with all others of its kind in the destruction of the Basiliskan people thirty years before the Exar Kun war. The droid was irreplaceable, and a mystery even to its rider. Decades away from its creators had degraded its droid brain into a more bestial state. To build a bond with such a beast required an effort of immense will, and Canderous was amongst the youngest warriors to achieve such a feat. He and the beast were inseparable now, and they would remain so until his death. His armour, his weapon, his beast, himself, these were the sum of Canderous. If all else fell then these would see him through any hardship, and keep him true to himself.

His gaze wandered from the stars and over the cluster of ships looming over the crater, the closest two hundred metres to his right. These were his clan, his family, who would stand with him just as he stood with them. The majority of Ordo’s holdings consisted of ten ships, many converted freighters or pirate ships captured in battle across the outer rim. A precious few were former republic warships, captured by Ordo clansmen in the raid above Foerrost during the last war. The vessels always filled Canderous with awe; he had been too young to fight for Mandalore the Indomitable and Exar Kun and the knowledge that these vessels still bore the scars of their attack on Coruscant was a source of both shame and fierce pride for the young warrior.

These vessels were perched atop the lip of the crater like a flock of birds, surrounded by a field of fires lit in burning barrels and disorderly clusters of tents. Here was his clan, the men and women of clan Ordo clustering together in families. The men of the clan were leading the young through the day’s weapon drills, demonstrating lunges, parries and ripostes with heavy blades or teaching the children to field strip their rifles. Behind bubbling cauldrons, the women of clan Ordo, armoured in the same heavy plate as the men, set about preparing the thick stews that were the staple food of the Mandalorians. The food was thinner than it might once have been; pickings were thin this far out into space and clan Ordo had been forced into hunting expeditions to track down meat or raid farms for their grain. Everyone was armed and, save the young children, everyone was armoured, their beskar’gam binding them together as Clan Ordo. Canderous would never have to fight alone, as long as his clan was by his side.

Equidistant from Ordo’s encampment were two more clustered groups of ships, also perched high upon the lip of the crater. These were the vessels of Clan Fett and Clan Argo, and they were lit from beneath by firelight as the two clans went about the same business as Ordo. Since the defeat of Mandalore the Indomitable and the loss of his mask upon the forest moon of Dxun the clans had withdrawn to the outer rim and wandered in isolation, becoming little more than another band of brigands in a region of space already heavy with pirates and petty worlds. When two or more Clans happened to pass close to each other, it had become custom for them to meet, trade and arrange marriages. In this way, the Mandalorians were kept pure and Canderous knew that were Ordo to face destruction then the other clans would rally to their banner.

But, without Mandalore, the clans would never again be one people, united in a single cause. 

Mandalore the Indomitable had led their people across the Galaxy in alliance with the Sith Brotherhood of Exar Kun, and the Galaxy burned. Their fleets had carved a bloody swathe through the worlds of the Republic and even the great Jedi Order had been humbled. The Republic shipyards of Foerost, and it’s three hundred ships, had been taken as the spoils of war and set upon the ecumenopolis of Coruscant. The Republic’s capital ran red with the blood of untold millions and the Mandalorians were on the cusp of taking the world. But they were betrayed by the Sith Aleena, who ordered the withdrawal so that her master would find himself captured. They rallied from this defeat and forged new frontlines in an effort to encircle the Core Worlds. Countless planets fell to their wrath and the stars themselves withered and died in the fury of ancient Sith weaponry. In the light of this Supernova the Mandalorians fell upon the Jedi Library-World of Ossus, and the very history of the Order was destroyed in the flames.

Even as the Jedi withdrew from the galaxy, betrayed from within and assaulted from without, the Republic rallied, and began to set its vast industry to the war effort. A vast counteroffensive was launched and the Republic began to push back the armies raised by the Sith, overcoming even the elite Mandalorian warriors. The bulk of Mandalore’s forces were engaged in the Crusade against Onderon and the Walled City of Iziz. The Queen of Onderon could only watch from behind the walls as a great aerial battle began between the Beast Riders of Onderon and the Mandalorians atop their Basilisk War Droids. Republic fleets arrived in system, and Mandalore found his forces caught between the Beast Riders and the guns of the Republic. Exposed, he ordered his forces to fly for the Forest Moon of Dxun, to lose them amongst the dense jungle. 

Mandalore’s Basilisk was struck, and he crashed into the jungle. His warrirors scattered, each seeking to find their leader, and their formations split into small hunting-parties. No body was found, and without the unifying presence of Mandalore the Clans scattered in the face of the overwhelming force of the Republic Navy, the Beast Riders and Royal Army of Onderon. They were pursued to the very edge of Republic Space, and grief drove them even further until they lay at the very edge of the Galaxy. Without Mandalore’s mask there can be no Mandalore and without Mandalore there can be no Mandalorians. The Clans are doomed to a slow death in exile as their numbers dwindle, little more than bands of pirates or brigands.

As the faint sun rose over the unnamed world, three of those bands descended the crater. The Chieftains led their clans down the precarious slope of the crater, heading for the centre. The whole clan descended, young and old, and they brought with them innumerable goods on grav-sleds, on the backs of Basilisks or simply slung over their shoulders in sacks. At equidistant points along the crater, Clan Fett and Clan Argo made their own descent. To the untrained eye, they might have appeared no different than Clan Ordo; all three groups were led by warrior in unique armour linked only by the similar bone-yellow colour of Beskar-Gam, all three were laden with goods and yet seemingly destitute. More importantly, all three groups moved with the barely contained menace of warriors. They were giants.

Vesarick Ordo, Patriarch of Clan Ordo, met his counterparts at the very heart of the crater. His armour was a rust-red colour, and the pelt of some predatory quadruped was sling over his shoulder. He looked every part the wild hunter. Cassus Fett, Patriarch of Clan Fett, could not have looked more different. He eschewed the jagged armour styles favoured by most Mandalorians. His armour was filed smooth, and decorated with etchings of precious metals. Still, he was a Mandalorian, and this vain affectation made him appear as a calculating leader, rather than the foppish look it would have given a lesser man. Veshick Argo, Patriarch of Clan Argo differed from both of his compatriots. Like his clan, his armour was shrouded in tattered robes that left only the faintest hint of yellow armour. Clan Argo had been outliers, but the word around the campfire was that they had fought their way across an industrial wasteland, and they had adopted their strange garb as a way of protecting their armour from acid rain. These three titans met, exchanging a few words of greeting that might in time become the stuff of ritual.

With that simple meeting over, the grander meeting between clans began. Hundreds of Mandalorians now filled the crater, merely a fraction of their entire race but more than ever normally gathered in one place, and the three clans briefly became one as the groups intermingled. The Mandalorians recognised no currency, the clans bartering with each other over items of all sizes. A well-made blaster might be exchanged for an electrical generator, or rare spices for decorative fetishes. Marriages were arranged and conducted within the course of a few hours, the daughters of the clans leaving their former home behind so that their new home could maintain genetic diversity. Around dozes of campfires, the oldest warriors of the clans sought to outdo each other with tales of their exploits, or those of their children, whilst foods from innumerable planets were fried and skewered. The atmosphere was part market, part festival, and skins of arrack were liberally passed about. 

Canderous found in animated conversation with Enyalla Argo, daughter of that Clan, her features doubly concealed by her beskar’gam and the strange robes her clan wore, as well as perhaps by intoxication. Mandalorians cared less about appearance than fortitude, partly out of necessity, and the Mandalorian young quickly learned to appreciate the cut of a woman’s armour more than any skin that lay beneath. It was as Canderous was shamelessly boasting of his battle with a strange creature hidden in an ice asteroid, that had melted five warriors before disappearing into the great void, when he saw something over Enyalla’s shoulder. 

Standing with his back to Canderous, was a warrior in a red cloak. At his feet lay the tattered rags of Clan Argo, and his pristine robes seemed out of place among the ragged Mandalorians. Another Clansman approaching from the opposite direction saw this strangers face and dropped his rifle in shock. When it hit the floor, silence descended upon the encampment, spreading out from the red clad warrior like a ripple in a calm sea. Canderous craned his neck to try and catch a glimpse of what had entranced his fellows, but he stopped as his eyes fell upon the faintest sliver of a golden mask. There was a bestial shriek, and a Basilisk War droid broke from the Argo pens, landing before this red clad warrior. With swift grace, he clambered up the side of the droid-beast and, as he turned his head to survey the crowd, Canderous saw for the first time in his life the golden mask of Mandalore.

Mandalore.

Mandalore was among them, astride the menacing shape of a Basilisk War Droid. With a gentle tug, his droid swung its head from side to side until all had seen Mandalore’s golden mask and all might know that he had returned. Then, he spoke. His voice was soft, but it carried the authority of every one of his predecessors.

‘My children, I have returned to you.’

His words stupefied the crowd, hardened warriors standing around like children in their first battle.

‘We stand here, now, on the edge of the Galaxy. We have fallen far, driven from the wealth of the core by the simpering cowards of the Republic, forced to sell ourselves as mercenaries, or devolve into mere raiders. To my shame, I have seen our people fall further than we have ever fallen. I was there, on Dxun, when Mandalore the Indomitable fell into the jungles of that cursed world. I found his body, crushed beneath the wreckage of his Basilisk, and claimed his mask for my own. I followed our flight, concealing my discovery.’

The onlookers were appalled. They had been leaderless, directionless, and the Republic had driven them from everything they had hoped to achieve.

‘I abandoned you then, because I knew that we needed to evolve, to become something more. We lost the war. We failed and fell. Now the memory of that loss will drive us on to even greater heights. But to do that, I needed to understand why we failed.’

‘We were strong when we entered the war. Each of us was individually the finest warrior in the galaxy, and together we were an unconquerable hoard. No foe could stand before us, and we fought our way to the capital of that decadent republic. But we fled Coruscant, because we were deceived by an unreliable ally. The Sith were strong, and many were fitting warriors to follow in our wake, but they were treacherous, and saw us as little more than tools. Where were our Sith allies when we sieged the Walled City of Iziz? We cannot trust allies.’

The crowd was silent, engrossed in his word. Canderos watched, his female companion entirely forgotten, though too was enraptured by Mandalore’s golden mask.

‘But we cannot survive without them. The Republic is vast. That is why its citizens can wallow in decadence. Show them an unconquerable fortress and they will throw bodies at it until the survivors can climb the walls on a ramp made of their slain bretherin. We conquered their territory, but then we moved on. Our numbers dwindled, whilst the sleeping beast slowly woke. We were not outfought outside the walls of Iziz, we were not outmanoeuvred, we were outnumbered and we were outgunned.’

‘The same will happen if we attack again. We will push into the heart of the Republic until there is nothing around us save our enemies. We will die ignoble deaths, swamped by conscripts or shelled from afar.’

‘To win, we must change. The seeds of this change were planted in the last war. Many of you took on the orphans of our war, and made them Mandalorian. But that was not enough! We must become conquerors! We must destroy our opponents, subjugate their lands and make their people Mandalorian! Those who cannot fight, we will enslave! We shall set them to work in the shipyards, in munitions foundries and in the bowels of vast dreadnoughts, so that we may meet the Republic Navy on an equal footing! The women and children of our enemies will fuel our war machine!’

‘To do this, we must become more than we once were. We must cast off the warrior’s mantle, and become leaders! We must present a united front to the galaxy, so that those who come to wear our armour will see themselves as one part of a greater whole!’

‘We entered the last war as Crusaders, valiant knights atop Basilisk War droids. The next war shall not be fought by warriors, but by fleets and armies! The Mandalorians will no longer be a people of individuals, but a set of ideals and a shared culture open to all who possess the strength needed to exert their will on the galaxy! We shall be the example to follow, the ideal to strive for! We shall be Neo-Crusaders!’

A great flurry of activity spread through the camp as the warriors of Clan Argo cast aside their robes and coverings. Beneath this simple disguise they wore armour unlike any Canderous had ever seen. Unlike the jagged Crusader armour, they wore sleek suits of simple plates, with the only ornamentation being two white lines on the breastplate. Most unsettling of all, the armour was identical. Each warrior mirrored the others, a sea of soldiers in red armour. Only the yellow armour of Veshick Argo differed, even then the armour itself was of the same pattern.

‘When the galaxy looks upon us,’ Mandalore continued, ‘they will not see Ordo, Fett or Argo. They will see one people, united in one cause! To meet the galaxy in a battle that will last forever! To the loser, annihilation! To the victor, the galaxy!’

Cheers echoed through the Mandalorian camp as the assembled warriors were caught up in the frenzy. Rifles were fired into the air and husbands embraced their wives. The Mandalorians were divided no longer, and they would be brought closer than ever before as Neo-Crusaders. Canderous sat down, overwhelmed by events, and Enyalla Argo stood over him, resplendent in her red armour, her hand outstretched.

‘Stand up, Madalorian, and together we’ll conquer the galaxy.’


	2. Conspiracy

Some say that the Jedi temple is as old as the Republic. Perhaps this is true of some ancient part of it, but the enormous ziggurat that towers over the Coruscant skyline has been forged by the growth of the city, and the growth of its order. More recently, it was forged by the great schism of the Exar Kun war. Over the two decades following that monumental conflict, the temple has been ringed by endless creeping scaffolding and the grand structure has grown even grander. This grand monument maintains a silent vigil over its surroundings. In time, perhaps, the city will grow and only some small part of the Temple will remain under the open sky, but for now it serves as a colossal monument to the Order’s power.

And yet, this impression is deceiving for just as the Temple on Coruscant has surpassed its ancient boundaries, so too have the Jedi slowly begun withdrawing their presence from thousands of temples, missions and shrines on thousands of different worlds. The Exar Kun war proved that an order divided across a thousand worlds is one that is vulnerable to corruption. Distance enabled the followers of Exar Kun to corrupt entire swathes of Jedi and go almost entirely unnoticed by the High Council on Coruscant. Worse still, the divided temples proved vulnerable to attack. Nowhere was this more evident than on the great Jedi Archive of Ossus, where millennia of knowledge was lost amidst terrible fires. What remains of the Archives, those precious few scrolls and tomes that were secreted away in innumerable straships, now rests within a dedicated wing of the Coruscant Temple.

Within this new Jedi library, dozens of knights and padawans work to transfer the information from fragile papyrus into incorruptible data, stored in towering stacks of crystal that no flame can touch. It has been a decade of work, but their work is almost completed. In another section of the library planetary data gathered from satellites and untold expeditions is collated, until someday the Jedi would be able to say with confidence that if a world does not exist in the Archives, then it does not exist. The final section of the Library is concerned with acquiring the knowledge of the galaxy. Historical records are gathered dating as far back as the great galactic war, and real-time newsreels are collated and filed, for perusal by the Jedi of the future.

Six knights are charged with transcribing these newsreels, instructed to gather pure facts over editorials. These knights, out of the entire order, have the greatest access to outside information. The Temple is a place free from all distractions, including tumultuous news, and the Order therefore remained a place of balance, separate from the concerns of the wider galaxy. One of the knights was a tall man in his early twenties, with a full head of swept-back brown hair. At first glance, his actions were almost indistinguishable from his fellows but a closer look under his desk would reveal a squat metal box wired into the great console. Even as he lifted data from the flow of information and transferred it into the gleaming data-crystal his discrete hard-drive would copy that same information for his own personal use. He was an information broker, the dreaded source of the rumours that had swept through the Temple.

Once he neared the end of his eight-hour shift, the lone Jedi discretely reached beneath his desk to withdraw the small box, concealed within the plain robes of his Order. Though it meant he lost out on the last scraps of data, it left his replacement none the wiser when she came to relieve him. He moved throughout the halls of the Temple like a ghost, blending in effortlessly with the innumerable Jedi and servants and showing no sign of the burden he carried. He followed the flow of people down through the height of the Temple, until he arrived at the entrance to a familiar chamber. The rooms of jedi were austere, as fitted their order, and the knight’s own space was no different. It was little more than a narrow length of space, one side of which was occupied by a bed, a wardrobe and a desk atop which a small personal cogitator sat. With this device, he copied the data from his modified computer spike onto a dozen small data drives before gathering them all into his robe and departing again.

His first destination was the ‘Garden of Tranquility’, deep in the heart of the Temple. This indoor space was filled with foliage from across the galaxy, and great projectors turned the ceiling into the cloudy skies of ancient Tython, the Jedi’s legendary homeworld. Jedi came to this place to meditate and centre themselves, or to simply enjoy a walk under the seemingly open sky. The knight made for a lone Jedi, a robed figure sitting cross-legged beneath the branches of a blossoming tree. This guardian’s face, what little could be seen beneath his hooded robe, was dark skinned and fixed into an expression of tranquillity that deadened him to the knight’s approach. It was only when the knight raised his fist to his mouth and coughed that the guardian looked up, pulling back his hood to reveal a close-cropped head of black hair and smiling.

‘Aaryn,’ he said as his smile widened, ‘what news from the front?’

‘More of the same, Gann,’ the knight replied as he handed over a trio of data drives, ‘our lines are holding, barely, and there’s been another battle over Suurja. It won’t last, no matter what the broadcasts say. The Navy’s spread too thin.’

‘And yet here it seems like there’s no war at all.’ He held one of the drives up to the light. ‘There is more life in this little shape than in the entire garden. Thank you for bringing this to me.’

‘Then you’ll spread the word, bring more guardians to the meeting tonight?’ his tone was questioning, but not overly so.

It was as if he already knew the answer.

‘Of course, though I don’t know how many will come. Most of my colleagues are closely aligned to the Council, I don’t want to risk exposure.’

The knight put a hand on his seated comrade’s shoulder in reassurance.

‘After tonight, the whole galaxy will know our allegiance.’

The guardian looked up at the knight with a hint of worry etched across his face. He saw nothing but steely determination in the knight’s smile, and his own mood shifted to hopeful expectation as he watched the knight move away along the garden’s pathways.

The clashing of lightsabres could be heard throughout the sparring chambers of the upper temple, dozens of Jedi pairing off in individual duels watched over by young Jedi initiates whilst classes of padawans were brought through the basic lightsabre forms. The knight wandered through the duelling figures before settling down to watch one pair of fighters, leaning inside the shadow of a great stone pillar. It did not take a Jedi’s foreknowledge to see that the fight would almost be concluded; the first fighter, a tall woman with fiery red hair, was drenched in sweat and had been forced almost to the edge of the duelling circle while her opponent, a mountain of a man with a full head of long brown hair and a bushy beard, brought down his long yellow sabre in successive titanic blows. 

Within moments the woman had been bowled over, with the point of the sentinel’s sabre mere centimetres from her neck. A mere moment later, the blade had been extinguished and replaced by an outstretched arm. Once the sentinel had hauled the other fighter to her feet, he spoke to the woman, noticing her pained expression.

‘Much better than last time, Angie, but you’re still trying to meet me head on. You’re strong in the force, and that helps, but the only substitute for physical strength is subtlety. Use my strength against me, learn to flow around conflict rather than meeting it head on. Find Master Bast, see if she can teach you her tricks. Then you’ll be able to run rings around me.’

‘Rane Jast, teaching.’ The knight spoke up once the other Jedi had left. ‘I never thought I’d see the day. What happened to the young padawan who would shut himself away practicing lightsabre forms while the rest of us goofed off?’

The sentinel’s eyes lit up as he heard the voice, and his beard curled as he grinned.

‘Aaryn Toral, still skulking about in the shadows. If you’re being serious, then these are the reason I changed.’ He took the proffered trio of data drives. ‘Think of it as my contribution to the war effort, making sure that we don’t forget how to fight.’

‘Admirable, but it’s time for a more direct contribution. Bring everyone you can to the meeting tonight, it will be our last.’

‘It’s about time. I’ll be there, me and anyone I can bring.’

The sentinel watched the knight depart, before bringing the hilt of his sabre up to his eyes in quiet contemplation. After a moment lost in thought, and a dismissive grunt, he cast a towel over his bare shoulder and wandered off to the showers.

The knight stopped at a few more places, handing off his contraband to a select few other nights who would see the information safely onto the rumour mill, where it would pass through the ears of ever master, knight and padawan within the temple. His final destination brought him near to the top of the Temple, in a small chamber before a great bay window. This room was one of many without an obvious purpose. It held several chairs and tables, all of which were unoccupied, as well as bookshelves and empty spaces. It was a room that would find purpose with future growth, but now only held a few Jedi in aimless contemplation. Two women stood deep in conversation by the great window, two Jedi leagues apart in status. One figure was unmistakable with her white robes, pale skin and short white hair. The knight knew this woman as Atris of the High Council, and he took a seat well out of view of her, pretending to occupy himself with some old tome. She had styled herself as the defender of Jedi doctrine, and feared the knight’s influence over the younger Jedi.

In time, the pair finished their conversation and the master left, without so much as a glimpse at the knight, while Aaryn moved up to the younger woman. Her hair was brown, and kept in a short bob, while her khaki robes matched her pale face. She displayed no visible reaction as the knight stood beside her and they both spent a few moments staring out over the endless cityscape of coruscant, illuminated a vibrant orange by the setting sun. Still without saying a word, Aaryn held out his last data drive, which was concealed within the folds of tan robes.

‘Surik,’ the knight greeted, using the surname of his newest contact, ‘we’re having another meeting tonight, I’d appreciate your presence.’

‘That was Atris,’ the young knight responded, ‘she has been seeing a great deal of me recently. She plies me for information about the sentiment of the younger knights, and she wants to take me on as her protégé.’

‘A tempting offer,’ Aaryn began, hesitantly, ‘one that could set you on the path to a seat on the council in a few decades.’

‘I was rather thinking of it as a chance to sway the Council, to make them see the threat.’

The knight caught a chuckle before it left his throat.

‘The Council sees its threat. It’s painted red and wielding a lightsabre. You can’t change their mind, but they’re desperate to change yours. The prodigal knight, that’s what the padawans call you. This is about the heart and soul of our order, and there’s a lot of people who’ll base their allegiance on how you act.’

‘So, you want me on your side to sway the neutrals, just as the council does.’

‘I won’t deny it. The council offers you the chance to advance in the order, to become one of the youngest Jedi masters in our history. I can’t offer you that. The only thing I can offer you is knowledge. Knowledge of what’s happening outside these walls. After that, it’s up to you.’

He left her there, staring out over the capital world of the Republic.

Once the sun had set a secret gathering took place in the very bowels of the temple. Amongst the great pipes and ducts that heated the immense building, there was a large circular expanse that went unnoticed by the wider order. Within this immense chamber, and at the feet of a large raised platform, a shadow council met. This was no small gathering of esteemed masters, but a collection of over a hundred of the Jedi’s knights. There were a few padawans amongst their number but the Order kept a tight hold on its apprentices, after the disastrous mass corruption of padawans in the last war. In times gone by these knights would have been sent across the galaxy to do the work of the order, and their unnatural confinement within the temple was what had brought them to events like these.

When the knight entered, the crowd was being addressed by a figure in red robes inlaid with discrete armoured plates. The dark-haired man was slightly shorter than Aaryn, but he stood atop a raised platform that set him above the assembled Jedi. This was Alek, Aaryn’s most trusted friend and the second leader of their faction within the Jedi. He was adreessing the assembled knights like a general on the eve of battle.

‘Do not heed the words of the Jedi council, the Republic will fall if we do not act now. Already the Mandalorians have taken three systems along the rim, they will only grow more powerful with time. Come stand with me. We will use our might to help the Republic in its time of need. Join with us, together we will battle this menace!’

His words held the attention of the crowd, but the room echoed with silent anticipation, as if the assembled Jedi knew this was but a prelude to the main event. As his closest friend wound down his speech, Aaryn stepped up before the crowd. Everybody in that room was shrouded within the hood of their robe, but Aaryn could almost see the sea of expectant faces looking up at him. Alek stepped back from centre-stage, taking up a position to the right of the Revanchist leader. Aaryn then did the unthinkable, and lowered his hood. His identity was little more than an open secret at this point, but the Council’s spies who doubtless littered the crowd now had just cause to bring him down. He looked out over the crowd, a young man with long brown hair that had been swept back behind his head, before speaking.

‘The Mandalorian offensive has begun in full. On three fronts, they have launched mass attacks aimed at breaking the Navy’s Taris line. The fleet is overstretched, and the line will fall. Already, fresh ships have been dispatched from Kuat Drive Yards to the frontline, filled woth untrained crews. The Army is mobilising en-masse, and planetary militias are being seconded. Aristocrats like Duke Leto Thul of Alderan have pledged entire legions to the Army, and been rewarded with commissions in return. Next month, the Senate will vote on a motion to enact conscription across the galaxy, a measure not taken since the worst days of the Exar Kun war.’

‘Every part of the Republic is mobilising for Total War. Every planet, every factory and every citizen are being prepared to fight for the sake of the Republic itself. Every part, except the Republic’s sworn defenders. We are the Jedi Order! Sacred Knights charged with defending the people and the principles of the Republic from any threat. Why do we not march to war? Why don’t we do our duty to the Republic and to our ancient codes? Why do we withdraw from the galaxy in its hour of greatest need?’

‘Fear. Fear of a spectre. The Council is wise, but their wisdom has been twisted by the trauma of the last war. They look on their Knights and Padawans, they look on us, and they see the Sith. The Council argues that they refuse to bring us into the conflict because they would prepare the order to fight the Sith, and they do not lie. But the Sith they fear are not some foreign empire or warlord. They are us. The Council believes that we lack the strength to fight, that if we are not constantly watched then we would fall in an instant. I say we are stronger than that.’

Suddenly a voice was raised amongst the crowd.

‘The council is right! The council is wise! If you go to war, if you abandon the traditions of our order, you will fall!’

The voice was not unknown to Aaryn, but it wasn’t one he had ever paid serious attention to. There were a few padawans within the Revanchist conspiracy, but almost all of them attended out of a childish desire for rebellion, and he had never seen them as committed to the cause. Aaryn struggled to remember this one’s name, something Shan. With a single move, he raised his hand and ignited his lightsabre, casting a blue glow across the room and silencing the Padawan.

‘This is not a defensive weapon! You cannot use it from range, or from behind cover. It is a blade that must be brought to the foe. We are crusaders! The noble reflection to the perversions of the Mandalorians. I have gathered you here in the cause of Revanchism. We are committed to regaining our lost territory but, more important than any land, also to regain the soul of our order from those who would have us abandon a galaxy in need. I refuse to stand idle for a minute longer, the time for talk has passed. Now we must act! Who will stand with me against the Mandalorian threat?’

Immediately Alex ignited his own lightsabre, another blue blade, and held it aloft. Moments later, the spry figure of Gann and the musclebound Rane clambered onto the platform, cast down their hoods and ignited their own blades, green and yellow mingling with the blue. In the crowd, scattered Jedi cast off their hoods and joined them, but opinion still teetered on a knifes edge. Aaryn stood in silent hope; all he needed was for her to take a side, and they were his. He let out a silent sigh of relief as a woman stepped up to the platform, and his grin turned manic as Meetra Surik threw down her hood and alighted a blue blade. 

It was as if the floodgates had been opened, and Aaryn beheld a sea of colour as dozens of lightsabres were raised in defiance. San, and a few other knights and padawans tried to sneak off only to have their path blocked by a wall of blades.

‘Let them pass.’ Aaryn spoke, his voice carrying across the chamber.

‘They’ll tell the Council.’ Alek whispered in his ear

‘By the time they reach the Council, we’ll have already left.’ He replied, as the frightened padawans fled the chamber.

‘We make for the docks!’ he cried ‘There, a Foray-class Blockade runner waits for us. Follow me, my Revanchists. Follow me to war!’


End file.
